


Challenge

by janiejanine



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-19
Updated: 2014-05-19
Packaged: 2018-01-25 15:41:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1653836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janiejanine/pseuds/janiejanine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Isabela and Sebastian have a friendly competition.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Challenge

There came a time during every Wicked Grace night when Isabela got bored with cheating everyone out of their money and started trying to stir up trouble. Tonight, it seemed Sebastian was doomed to be her victim. She'd apparently decided, after several whiskeys, that if she couldn't make a dent in his chastity, she'd have a go at his sobriety.

It was a good thing he got lots of practice when it came to patience. It was being sorely tested.

"What's wrong, Brother Sebastian? Afraid I'm going to compromise your virtue?"

"Leave him alone, Bela," Hawke chided from the other end of the table.

Sebastian flushed. "It's all right."

"Oh, look, he's blushing," Isabela cooed. "How precious."

Despite her crudeness and casual blasphemy and delight in his embarrassment, Sebastian rather liked Isabela. She reminded him of a simpler time. Well, not simpler, exactly, but a time when  _responsibility_ was just a word and the solutions to his problems were easily found between the sheets or at the bottom of a glass.

He rather liked all of them, really, even though they were always  _Hawke's_ companions, never his. They were polite enough. He could live with the occasional too-sharp digs at his privileged upbringing ( _Ale not good enough for you, Choirboy?_ ) and his vocation ( _How are things in the Chantry? Oppress anyone today? Well, it's still early._ ) and even his armor ( _Are you hoping to blind the enemy?_ ). They were wary of him, and he understood that. He was sure he'd earn their trust in time. Besides, it was worth it to spend time with Hawke.

But sometimes, it was just too much. He was a priest, not a saint, and he'd reached his breaking point.

"All right. Let's do it," he said, pushing his cup of water to the side.

Isabela looked startled. "Really?"

"You offered. Do you want to take it back?"

"Never. We could make it more interesting," she mused, tapping a finger against her chin. "We could make it strip--"

"Don't push your luck," he growled with his best holier-than-thou glare.

She glared back. "We'll see who's lucky,  _Choirboy_ ," she said.

Maker, he hated that nickname. "Just pour," he snapped. "You might be surprised."

 

* * *

 

Sebastian woke with a start. Opening his eyes was a mistake; a beam of sunlight hit him full in the face, sending stabbing pains ricocheting around inside his skull. The surface under him was hard, even more so than the bed in his room in the Chantry. His mouth tasted like something died in it.

Rolling to the side, he carefully opened one eye and scanned the room. The rug he was lying on was familiar. Varric's rug. Had he spent the whole night on the floor?

Andraste's tits, he thought before he could stop himself, and he murmured a quick apology to the heavens. What had he done last night? He remembered a challenge...a few barbed taunts...a growing pile of empty glasses. The rest was a blur.

A horrible thought flashed into his mind. He opened his eyes, ignoring the pain, and looked down. Thank the Maker. He was still clothed.

Apart from himself, the room appeared to be unoccupied. Everyone else must have made it to their own beds. Wherever she was, he hoped Isabela was suffering as much as he was. It was only fair. That woman could goad the Knight-Commander into dancing the Remigold if she put her mind to it.

Slowly, he got to his feet, thankfully only having to pause once and wait for a wave of dizziness to subside. With any luck, he'd make it through the bar and back up to Hightown without throwing up or running into anyone he knew. The quicker he could get back to the Chantry, the better. He had a feeling he'd be spending a good part of the day in the confessional.


End file.
